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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750182">Let it Rain (A Scandal Westeros Flashback)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinnyBlackGirl/pseuds/SkinnyBlackGirl'>SkinnyBlackGirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Scandal: Westeros (Bonus Cuts) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Scandal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mild Smut, Modern Westeros, Rare Pairings, Scandal-Westeros, Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:02:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinnyBlackGirl/pseuds/SkinnyBlackGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s only known Sarella’s older sister for a couple of months, but Jon's surmised a couple of facts about her. Where Sarella was a poised ballbuster, using her pristine wardrobe of neutrals and a cool expression as armor, Nymeria was all heat. Black nails and bold colors, large, teasing eyes that invited you to touch her but threatened certain death if you did. Sarella—her tryst with Robb aside—was a work-addicted nun. Nymeria spent her weekends in high rises and on remote islands with Braavosi bankers, Summer Isles shipping heirs, and Dornish nobles.</p><p>A Saturday night at 10:00 PM. The shoes, the trench coat… </p><p>Nymeria had been called away from a date. She's naked under her jacket.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nymeria Sand/Jon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Scandal: Westeros (Bonus Cuts) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let it Rain (A Scandal Westeros Flashback)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by a couple of people who were interested in the Jon/Nymeria backstory mentioned in "Gala at the God's Eye." This is a flashback that takes place about two years ahead of the current Scandal-Westeros timeline.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"The night is dark and full of storm clouds over Oldtown tonight.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hurricane Vhagar, which hit the western coast of Walano in the Summer Isles with winds of up to 50 miles per hour will downgrade to a tropical storm before it lands on the western coast of the Reach. The Arbor, Oldtown, and the Shield Islands are expected to see torrential rain with winds of up to 25 miles per hour this evening and severe flood warnings are in effect for the counties bordering the Whispering Sound. Residents of this area are encouraged to take shelter, as streets may not be suitable for intra-city travel. Stay tuned for more information on road closures from our traffic team. For now, this is Melony Lotseven with your Westeros weather update.”  </em>
</p><p>“Please tell me you’ve fucked against this window.” </p><p>Nymeria Sand’s heels click across the hardwood floors of Jon’s apartment before she settles in front of the centerpiece of his warehouse loft: a large, arched window that overlooks the southern bank of the Whispering Sound. Thick, black clouds hang over the bay, and battering rainfall pounds the glass, making it impossible to see anything but the foggy outline of the beacon shining from the top of the Hightower Hotel. </p><p>Jon was shirtless, sweaty, and heaving when he opened the door earlier, and he caught a flash of appreciation in Nym's piercing dark eyes before she spoke. "You didn't answer your phone. Sarella needs us at the office two hours ago,” she said looking down at her smartwatch. </p><p>He opened his mouth to speak, but she breezed by him, waving a dismissive manicured hand.</p><p>"Get showered and dressed, Fight Club. I like the view but I hear Sarella prefers the Ginger Stark."</p><p>By the time Jon was out of the shower, the sky had cracked open over the Whispering Sound, effectively trapping them in the apartment. </p><p>Where Nymeria, showing more leg than should be legal, in a pair of black stilettos with thick, sparkling cuffs around her ankles, is talking about fucking in front of his window. </p><p><em> She's not even your type, Snow</em><b><em>. </em> </b> He was no stranger to rich girls, having grown up around Essosi dignitaries and later, in the Stark household. But he doesn't go for women like Nym, with her $800 shoes and $200,000 sports car. He prefers women who are comfortable in a pub with a pint. Who make flannel and denim look like high-end couture. </p><p>Women like the redhead he buried five months ago. </p><p>Not the one in the trench coat in his loft. </p><p>A trench coat she hasn’t taken <em>off </em>since walking in two hours ago. </p><p>He’s only known Sarella’s older sister for a couple of months, but Jon’s surmised a couple of facts about her. Where Sarella was a poised ballbuster, using her pristine wardrobe of neutrals and a cool expression as armor, Nymeria was all heat. Black nails and bold colors, large, teasing eyes that invited you to touch her but threatened certain death if you did. Sarella—her tryst with Robb aside—was a work-addicted nun. Nymeria spent her weekends in high rises and on remote islands with Braavosi bankers, Summer Isles shipping heirs, and Dornish nobles.</p><p>A Saturday night at 10:00 PM. The shoes, the trench coat… </p><p>Nymeria was on a date when Sarella called. She’s naked under her jacket. </p><p><em> No, </em> Jon thought, eyes skimming up from the sparkly ankle cuffs to long, <em> long </em>legs that disappear under the belted black trench. Naked’s not her style. She’s dramatic, yes. She’s also a tease who likes expensive shit. </p><p>She’s in lingerie. </p><p>In <em>his </em>loft, talking about fucking against the window in a rainstorm. His cock had twitched when he deduced what she wore—or rather, didn’t wear—under her coat. Combining that thought with the present moment has him pointing due north and anxious to bend her over the cushioned window seat and...</p><p><em> Fuck</em>. </p><p>He hasn’t gotten it up for a flesh-and-blood woman in months, settling for stroking himself to blurry memories of unruly red hair cascading over his chest and pale, freckled skin sliding under his. Easy sex, that even at its most frenzied, felt familiar—like home. </p><p>Nothing about Nymeria Sand is familiar. Not the silky dark hair that bloomed into honey-highlighted waves down her back. Not the warm olive skin that boasted a permanent tan from weekends spent on beaches all over the world. Or her plump red mouth that Jon just <em>knows </em>would look gorgeous wrapped around his dick while she gazed up at him with wide, onyx eyes.</p><p>His sex drive is officially out of mourning. And she’s right: he’s overdue for a fuck against that window.</p><p>He doesn’t answer her question, instead, taking a long draw from his whiskey and leaning back on the couch. He can’t remember the last time he had to work to get laid. He’d been with Ygritte, faithfully, for two years. And when they hooked up, she pretty much tore his prick out of his pants in a haze of whiskey-fueled lust. </p><p>“Either you’re celibate or painfully vanilla,” Nymeria says, incredulous. “I don’t know what makes me sadder.” </p><p>“Definitely the former,” he grumbles into his whiskey. </p><p>At this, Nymeria turns to face him, her hair hanging like a two-toned curtain as she tilts her head and sizes him up, a thick, sculpted brow raised in amusement. “Good to know,” she says after her eyes take a slow journey up and down his t-shirt and denim-clad body. “Grief, I get. Boring sex, on the other hand? Tragic.” </p><p><em> Those eyes… </em> </p><p>Once, when Sarella was just the woman his cousin was shagging and <em>not </em>one of Jon’s closest friends, Robb confessed after too much scotch that her eyes were hypnotic. </p><p><em> “She gets this </em>look<em>. Even when she’s all fussy and proper, her eyes… They burn through me and go straight to my cock and I’m a bloody goner. I’ll give her whatever she wants when she looks at me like that.”  </em></p><p>Jon’s starting to think it runs in the family. </p><p>Those dark, twinkling pools of ebony remind him of the view outside his window at night, when a light breeze creates soothing, sparkling ripples over the Sound. She hasn’t even unleashed her full powers on him, but just the casual curiosity in her gaze sends bolts of attraction through his body. </p><p>"Whatever she wants" is a stretch, but if Nym decides she wants his cock? She can certainly have it. </p><p>All over his loft. Until the storm ends or she can't feel her legs. Whichever comes first.</p><hr/><p>Nymeria remembers the first time she saw the view from Jon’s loft.</p><p>Once he accepted the job offer from Sphinx Consultants, Sarella wanted to make his move to Oldtown as seamless as possible. He’d been through enough, her younger sister said, with the death of his girlfriend and leaving the only job he’d ever had. He didn’t need the hassle of the Oldtown real estate market, so Nym and Sarella handled his relocation; including apartment hunting.</p><p>The loft on the southern shore of the Whispering Sound was the winner after a tour of spaces that were either too feminine, too expensive, or too yuppy for the former Northern cop. Warehouses were a bit hipster for Nym’s taste, but walking the wood floors, she could see a rugged pretty boy making a home among the black metal railing, exposed brick, and a spiral staircase that led to a bedroom balcony set-up under a huge skylight. </p><p>It was the massive, floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sound that finally sold them. By day, sunlight poured in, soaking the hardwood floors. By night, the moon shone brightly in the sky and made the black water below twinkle like a million stars. </p><p>
  <em> “This view is a panty-dropper,” Nymeria told her younger sister. “If nothing else, this apartment will get him laid.”  </em>
</p><p>After two months of working with the brooding Northerner, the lack of sex in his life isn’t surprising. Most of the men she knew would drown their grief in new pussy. This one seems to prefer work, whiskey, and beating the shit out of a punching bag. </p><p>Based on what Nym saw when Jon answered the door—sweaty pecs, washboard abs, and a thin happy trail that led to a nice-sized bulge in a pair of black compression shorts—his apartment wasn’t the only beautiful thing going to waste. </p><p>Though, sizing him up right now, something’s flickering to life in his haunting gray eyes. And his shoulders, too, now that she considers him. They’re erect instead of their usual tense exhaustion. Perhaps the endorphins from his earlier workout? </p><p>That’s not it. He’s alert. Like a long-dormant predator hunting on new ground. </p><p>He’s… turned on. </p><p>It’s sort of adorable, definitely a little hot. </p><p>But Nymeria doesn’t <em>do </em>younger men. </p><p>Or ex-cops, even if they come from one of Westeros's wealthiest families. She likes titans of industry, masters of universes. Like the Iron Bank board member who recently added a 1991 Jaguar Roadster to her vintage car collection for her birthday. It showed up, cherry red with a black ribbon, on the cobblestone street outside the office a couple of weeks ago. Opening that beauty on the highway to Dorne to store with the rest of her babies had been a treat. </p><p>A treat for which she planned to show her gratitude—in the form of two-thousand-dollar lingerie—before her pesky, workaholic little sister foiled her weekend plans. Nymeria should have been on a helicopter to a private villa on the Arbor before the storm made landfall. Instead, she’s stuck in Jon’s loft, hiding lingerie that’s thin enough to be torn by a determined set of teeth. </p><p><em> Wolf’s teeth, perhaps? Thirty-one to thirty-six isn’t </em>that <em>young.  </em></p><p>She’ll admit. Jon <em>is </em>pretty. Those wild, black curls, high cheekbones, and pouty lips. And his eyes. She could imagine them scorching into her, steely and focused, as he worked his lithe body into hers. He has a brooding rock star vibe that Nym would have gone for in her twenties. </p><p>There <em>was </em>that Lysene drummer when she was twenty-five with bone structure so elegant, she would have sworn he was a long-lost Targaryen prince. Jon could be his dark-featured doppelganger. </p><p>So, he’s no billionaire banker. And this loft is no beach-side private villa. </p><p>But she can think of worse ways to wait out a storm. </p><p>“I bet there’s nothing boring about what you’re wearing under that jacket,” Jon says, his body language downright confident. One of his muscled arms is stretched across the back of his couch, while his whiskey glass dangles from two fingers in his other hand. She’s never seen <em>this </em> Jon Snow. </p><p>He looks like fun. </p><p>His body being ready doesn’t mean that his mind or heart is, though. Men are idiots, after all. He’s probably got no idea <em>what </em>he’s feeling. If she ends up being his first fuck since losing his girlfriend, she doesn’t want him triggered or overcome with grief in the middle of it. </p><p>She wants a raging wolf, not a wounded puppy. </p><p>Nym slowly lowers herself on the cushions of the window seat and crosses her legs, making a point to reveal her bare thigh through the bottom flap of her trench coat. “Pretty <em> and </em>perceptive,” she says with a grin. “I knew there was a reason Sarella insisted we hire you.” </p><p>She’s always enjoyed playing with her food. This should be a walk in the park. “May I speak freely, Jon?” </p><p>“Please.” </p><p>“I’m guessing you’re used to sliding your hands into some pink cotton blend travesty purchased at the mall while cuddling on the couch over pizza, beers, and a movie you’re pretending to watch, so I’ll warn you—before you get all worked up imagining you can handle me—that this...” she slowly runs a black stiletto nail up her thigh. “...isn’t that.”</p><p>Jon’s jaw clenches. It’s subtle, but she sees it. She’s hit a nerve. </p><p>
  <em> Good.  </em>
</p><p>“I can’t do worse than the boring blokes who have to buy you cars to keep your attention.” </p><p>“Ohhhh,” she coos. “The wolf bares his teeth. I like it. But let me be clear: pleasure is the <em>only </em>way to keep my attention. The cars and gifts? Proper homage to a woman of my stature. My father’s a prince, after all.”</p><p>Jon scoffs. “Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?” </p><p>“All the time. It’s a moot point unless you have something big enough to shut me up with.” Nym pauses, looking down at the growing bulge in his jeans. “Do you?” </p><p>Angry thunder roars outside, rattling the window as Jon chuckles low and deep. He nods to himself as if he finally understands the game she’s playing. When his eyes meet hers again, they’re black and impassive. Without looking away, he spreads his legs on the couch, the wide imprint of his arousal pushing against his zipper. “If you want my cock out, Nymeria, ask like a good girl.” </p><p>The endearment sends heat straight to her core. </p><p><em> So, the Northerner knows a thing or two after all… </em> </p><p>She can barely contain her smirk as she discreetly presses her thighs together to alleviate the throbbing between her legs. With a heavy sigh, she pretends to inspect her manicure. “You have to prove you’re a big boy before you use your big boy voice with me, Jon.” </p><p>There’s no sound but rain beating against the glass and the opening of zipper teeth. </p><p>Her mouth waters. The man is <em>gifted</em>. </p><p>Long, thick, curved slightly to the left, and crudely stroking himself with one of his dark brows arched.</p><p>“Lose the jacket.” His iron-toned command brooks no argument. </p><p><em> Got him, </em> Nymeria thinks.</p><p>Then she stands and does as she's told.</p><hr/><p>Despite his palm being his only source of action for the last five months, Jon was surprisingly in control. He didn’t have much experience with designer-clad maneaters, but he recognized a woman needing the sass fucked out of her. The “good girl” thing was a calculated gamble; if she didn’t fuck rich blokes (and he couldn't say for sure she fucked men exclusively) for the perks, she had to get off on the power exchange. Guessing which side of that exchange she preferred was the risk. </p><p>The way her eyes lit up when he said it told him that he guessed right. He wasn’t into the “yes sir, please sir” game but watching her mouth go slack at the sight of his cock right before she obediently followed directions...</p><p>Jon understood the appeal. </p><p>And he was fully prepared to play along until Nymeria untied her belt and sent her jacket fluttering to the floor in a pool around her sky-high stilettos. </p><p>He expected black. He expected skimpy. He didn’t expect… straps. </p><p><em> Just </em>straps. </p><p>Criss-crossing over her neck and torso and stretching across her hips, leaving her humble but perky tits and freshly-waxed pussy totally exposed. </p><p>If that isn’t enough, she has a tattoo. A fucking <em> tattoo.  </em></p><p>Right between her tits, a black, half-coiled snake poised to strike decorates her sternum. All he can think about is covering it with his hand to lay her flat on one of his counters and sinking deep between her smooth folds. </p><p>And watching his seed jet all over it when he’s finished. </p><p>
  <em> Fuck. Me.  </em>
</p><p>Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, Jon is on his feet, stomping out of his pants and boxers and whipping his t-shirt over his head. With the look of a serpent with a rabbit in its sights, Nymeria sits back down on the windowsill, back graceful and straight, legs spread with two fingers strumming her clit. </p><p>“What were you saying about shutting you up?” he asks, standing over her, holding his erection right in front of her wine red mouth. </p><p>She licks her bottom lip, eyes trained on him like she’s starving and his dick is a rare filet mignon. “It’s been a while for you,” she says, her voice thick with lust. “Let’s say your first load is on me so you can give my pussy the attention she deserves.” Looking up at him, her hand still busy between her legs, she darts her pink tongue out of her mouth and circles his crest with a long, torturous lick. “Deal?” </p><p>Even knowing what’s to come, the brief, warm, wet sensation snaps the last of Jon’s restraint. He meets her gaze and tilts her chin up with his finger. “Since you talk so bloody much, I want all mouth; no hands.”</p><p>Her tongue on the underside of his dick makes him take a handful of her silken hair in his hand. “No problem,” she moans before closing her mouth over the tip. </p><p>She’s been fucking with him all night, but with this, Nymeria Sand does not tease. Before he can adjust to the tight, silken heaven of her mouth, she has him buried to the hilt, scraping what has to be the back of her throat as her nose grazes his pelvis.</p><p>His neck snaps back on its own accord and his thunderous “Fuuuuuuuck” echoes through the loft over Nym’s sweet suctioning slurps and the pitter-patter of rain on the window. Maybe it’s been too long. Maybe she’s just that fucking good. But it doesn’t take long before his hips are driving in and out while he clutches her hair, desperately seeking the kind of release he hasn’t had in half a year. She lets him have it, stilling her motion and staying open for him as he takes what he needs. </p><p>When he feels her swallow and somehow take him past her throat, Jon is a goner. </p><p>The wave starts in his toes, then rushes up to his calves and thighs until his balls tighten. Nym must feel his body tense up because she sucks even harder, trapping him in the perfect whirlpool of her mouth and before he knows it, Jon sees stars behind his eyes and his knees are ready to give out. </p><p>He slams a palm against the window, his other hand gripping Nym’s hair so hard he can feel his nails in her scalp but it’s all he can do to stay anchored and upright as pleasure renders him temporarily blind and lame. He’s pumping wildly, spilling straight down her throat and Nym takes it all, blinking long, thick lashes up at him and cooing while a loud, gasping growl rips out of his chest and thunder claps outside. </p><p>Her eyes. Those fucking viper eyes stare through him while his body trembles from head to toe.</p><p><em> Bloody fucking hell</em>.</p><p>Jon stays on his feet, chest heaving as oxygen fills his lungs and brings him back down to earth. He's surprised when he looks down and finds Nymeria admiring his dick.</p><p>"Still half-hard," she says with a smirk. "Impressive."</p><p>It's only then he realizes how much he's missed the feel of a woman. Soft lips, hot mouths, smooth skin, and wet cunts. How long it's been since he savagely <em>took </em>without the cozy familiarity of intimacy. </p><p>Warm and cozy would only remind him of what he couldn't have. But this—hot, hard, and a little base with someone so outside of his comfort zone—both of his heads could get on board with this. </p><p>And his heart? Wasn't required for the task at hand.</p><p>Stepping back, he takes himself in hand, noting Nym's hungry gaze. He'd just ruthlessly fucked this woman's mouth and she didn't even need to catch her breath; like she's already entertained the myriad of ways he could take her and is panting at the possibilities.</p><p>On his counter, on her back. Because he’s definitely coming all over that snake tattoo. </p><p>Her bent over, with the strappy lingerie wrapped in his fist while he pounded her into blissful, incoherent babble. </p><p>On the couch, her slick and gripping him, bouncing in his lap while he savored the feel of her tits in his mouth, between his teeth. </p><p>In his bed, with her hands above her head, wrapped in one of his belts.</p><p>But first, the window. </p><p>Lacing his fingers in her disheveled hair, Jon tilts Nymeria’s head back. “Up,” he commands. “Face the window and spread your legs. Hands on the glass.” </p><p>Lightning flashes through the loft, giving him a brief but perfect view of her ass—high and firm—wrapped in black straps. Sinking down on his knees, he gives one cheek a sharp slap. The other, an appreciative bite that makes Nymeria shiver and moan. </p><p>“You’d better be down there to return the favor, Detective Snow.” </p><p>He traces two fingers up her wet folds. “Nothing about this is for you, Nymeria. I’m going to use this pretty little cunt all night and I need it dripping for me. And if your hands leave that glass? I won’t let you come.”  </p><p>His hand cracks across her ass again and the sting, accompanied by Nym hissing a throaty <em>“fuck,”</em> goes straight to his dick. “Understand?” </p><p>“Mmm-hm,” she affirms. </p><p>Leaning in, he inhales the heady cocktail of expensive perfume and aroused woman. He licks his lips and smirks to himself. “Buckle up, love. It’s gonna be a long night.” </p>
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